It's dangerous to get too comfortable
by Codename TBD
Summary: Sometimes people can only find themselves when they lose themselves. Sometimes losing yourself is a choice. Sometimes that choice has been taken away from you and it's a reaction, a survival instinct. But sometimes when you lose yourself, you find something you never knew you wanted or had long since forgotten. The question is, can you keep hold of it when you find yourself again?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Avengers, their characters, plot, etc. I do however own my OC and any plot additions. Post CA:WS_

S:

I ran for several reasons. But the most important and influential reason was that I just couldn't look myself in the mirror anymore. Every time I saw my reflection the memories came surging back.

The first thing I changed was easy, my hair. I used to have it all colours, dyed to my latest fad, styled in the most outrageous way. Instead I stripped the colour out and brought it back to my natural brown, but boring brown wasn't enough. There were still too many memories.

I changed my clothes; no longer the rebel, but the girl next door. But it didn't change anything. My friends and family started to ask questions which I couldn't answer so I moved away –not far at first, but I quickly found that it wasn't far enough.

I would see a friend, a family member, pass a place I knew and it would all come flooding back. I was fighting to stay sane. I could numb the memories by allowing myself to go insane, dabbling in things I never thought I would. They soon became a lifeline. The people, the place, my choice of self-medicating were killing me. I needed to be someone else, be somewhere else. So that's what I did. I left. I left the place, the people and myself behind.

So I became the antithesis of what I was, my best impression of a good English girl. I cleaned myself up. I did everything I could to change who I was, what I was.

I hoped it would be like faking a smile. You may not feel it at first, but eventually it starts to become real. I was doing just fine. Then, just as I was starting to believe the lies I was telling myself, and the people around me believed them too, everything started to unravel. That's when I met him…


	2. Chapter 2

S:

I'd been in Bucharest for about a month before I managed to find work and another month before I had a place to rent and call my own. I'd managed to rent a one bedroom top floor apartment on the outskirts of the city centre. It wasn't the best neighbourhood, but it was what I could afford. I wanted my own space. For a girl that had never survived well on her own, I was doing okay. I had a small apartment, a decent job at a respectable firm, a few friends and something that mildly resembled a social life.

Six months on and I was starting to call this place home. I had a routine, a regular income, places to be on a Saturday morning for coffee, and knew where to go shopping for underwear – you were never really home until you had to buy underwear.

I'd finished a basic course in Romanian and was starting to feel that urge to learn again and find something new. So, to pass the time until something came along I had started to learn how to cook and bake, after all sandwiches and toast would only get you so far and it was starting to grow old. So far my new hobby had proved to be a useful tool to get to know my neighbours. All the recipes were family sized, I had tried to downgrade but I still ended up cooking or baking more than I could eat. My freezer was full.

I had started to hand out my baking attempts a few weeks back, at work, socially and now at home. So far I'd managed to befriend a neighbour downstairs who had a brood of children all very fond of my Pandispan cake. My neighbour down the hall was away most of the time, from what I could make out he worked as a security guard in the city and travelled out of Bucharest to his stay with his family as often as he could. This meant I had the top floor pretty much to myself. I think he had children, but I had never seen them here, I just caught the word ' _copii_ ' in once, but then my Romanian was still pretty poor so I could have been mistaken.

There were three apartments on the top floor; the one immediately next door to mine had been empty for some time. A friend who knew better Romanian than I had said that he overheard people gossiping in the stairwell one night saying that its occupant had been arrested for crimes against the state, no one had heard from him but he was a nice guy they said, very unassuming. His property had been seized and the apartment abandoned. From the outside it felt like a cold, damp place. Silent in its neglect, it had been this way since I'd arrived. The rumour mill indicated it had been so for quite a while before that too.

It was quite a surprise when on opening on my way to work one morning when I heard movement. I double checked as stepped out of my door into the hall, the shard of light that came from the apartment next door disappeared as the door closed quietly snuffing out its existence. There was definitely someone in there.

I thought no more of it until I came home later that evening, it was dark now and I was tired after a long day and so many flights of stairs. You couldn't see any stars through the skylight window above the stairs as there was too much light pollution in Bucharest. But light emanated from beneath the adjacent apartment's door. I originally assumed the visitor had been the landlord ready to renovate and make in preparation for someone new to move in. But it was a diligent landlord or builder to be there all this time. It looked like I had a new neighbour.

Unlocking the door to my own home, I could hear movement and the light sound of voices on a radio, not enough to make out the word, but just enough to give you the sense that someone was there. I pondering the new status quo, I stepped inside my own apartment and closed the door behind me.

After tidying and moving in I would be tired, so I thought maybe they would too, so I decided to do the only decent thing and offer a welcoming gift. Get on the right footing now, and it can stave off power struggles later, at least that was my intention – it had worked before. I'd baked some biscuits the night before and had loads left over, I was intending to give them all to the family downstairs, but carving off a few for my new neighbour wouldn't be a problem.

I placed a selection on a plate and dared myself to be bold and be a friendly face. Each time I tried to introduce myself to a neighbour nervousness would rise in me and I would need to steady myself, this wasn't a natural thing to do for me. I had to push myself to be around people sometimes. I stepped out from the safety of my apartment and into the hall, plate in hand, and stood in front my neighbours door.

The light still escaped from the door's edges, and hints of movement betrayed its occupant was home. With a deep breath, I knocked firmly, reminding myself that confidence and a smile go a long way when breaking down barriers. The light around the door suddenly stopped dancing.

My preparation started to waiver as there was no answer to my knock, and from what I could tell no movement toward the door either. Less self-assured now, I knocked again, this time more timidly followed by ' _Buna_?' I paused questioning myself… 'Hello?'

Movement, there was movement now, my nerves fluttered again. The door opened only a few inches, just enough to see the grey eyes of a dark semi-long haired man. He said nothing; his stare was cold and suspicious, and unlike me it didn't falter as he looked directly at me with no emotion or reaction.

Taller than me by quite a margin, he must have been close to six foot tall. He was intimidating. I composed myself remembering why I was there. Producing my best neighbourly smile I held out the plate and said 'Welcome to building,' realising my geography I composed the best Romanian I could and said, ' _Bine ati venit_.'

He glanced down briefly then looked direct at me again. Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, I offered the plate again, looking away briefly as his intense scrutiny started to beat my precarious bravery. My uneasiness grew as he gave no indication of accepting my offering or closing the door in my face.

It felt like a standoff. Not knowing what else to do, I placed the plate of the floor. 'These are for you, to say welcome.'

Again, I repeated my intention in my broken and nerve wrenched Romanian. No response or reaction. Pointing to my apartment to my right I said, 'I live next door.'

I tried to smile again.

My nerves started to get the better of me as his unresponsive and unwelcoming demeanour swallowed my courage whole and any chance of conversing in the local language. 'You can keep the plate, or leave it outside my door when you're done.' Nothing, no response or even a smile, he didn't even blink.

My brain was addled and every bone in my body said that I needed to leave. 'Nice to meet you' I lied. I tried to smile once again as I made my way back into the safety of home. Closing my door behind me, I heard my neighbour's door click shut a moment before mine.

Once inside I started to shake. I had never met someone so intense before. I sat on a dining chair staring at the door, not daring to make a sound. I could hear the radio in his apartment and footsteps as he moved around. At least one of us was comfortable in our own space.

Completely forgetting that I intended to visit the family downstairs I made myself move and locked the door. I wanted to feel safe but I couldn't shake that feeling that maybe I wasn't. I tried to remind myself that I was an adult. That I could take care of myself and I was in my own place, door locked. I was okay… It was just my imagination.

I forced myself to settle down for the evening but my internal dialogue kept repeating over and over… ' _He's just a guy, he's probably shy, doesn't speak English and let's face it my Romanian is passable but not great_.'

I sighed… ' _Maybe he doesn't come from here and he doesn't speak Romanian or English. Maybe having someone turn up with biscuits was the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him, an English quirk he has never encountered before, except in a movie… Maybe my friendly smile came across manic and scary. Maybe he just doesn't like people. I could understand that sometimes_.'

Starting to annoy myself with the over analysing I mumbled to myself, 'Shut up, it's not like he's a serial killer, so just calm down can go to bed.'

Taking my own orders, I went to the bathroom and got ready for bed. Eventually I lay down on the bed but I couldn't help but think this wall was adjacent to his and he would be able to hear my every move. My paranoia spiking, I tried to sleep but continued to wonder exactly who had moved in next door. Exhausted, it wasn't long before my paranoia gave way to unconsciousness where instead of haunting my thoughts the feeling of him lurked in my dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

BB:

I couldn't tell you why I chose Romania. I remember fragments of a mission here in '64. I can remember the face of the target and the outcome, but not much else.

I came to Bucharest after a few months of wandering from place to place. I needed to lay low. No one here seemed to care about the Avengers or what happened in Washington, so it seemed as good a place as any to hideout for a while.

In truth, nowhere was ever going to be okay. Not now. I was running from at both HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. and god knows who else.

The things that rumbled around my head most were the missions, the tactics, weapons, the base in Siberia and the cold. There were some days I felt I could never get warm, not matter what the temperature. Strangely the base and that pervasive cold was the closest thing to home I could remember.

Then there were the fragments of memory that came from before, a seed planted by Steve Rogers but it was all fragmented and felt alien. Images and feelings that didn't fit and didn't make sense, they were like flicking through two completely contradicting story books at the same time. There were snippets that fit together, like a short on a film reel. But it all felt wrong to me. There was nothing to anchor it to and so it was as unreal as a dream.

I needed to get my head together. I need to piece as much of me back together as I could. Me, Bucky – that was my name from what I read in the Smithsonian, but even that didn't feel right. The Winter Soldier was still there, I was still him… he just wouldn't, or couldn't leave me alone.

Over the last few weeks though Bucky was starting to fight back as more fragments came forward to confuse me even more. I managed to find abandoned houses and apartments making them a temporary sanctuary, where I couldn't I slept rough as I moved from place to place. I started making a book of memories, questions and occasionally I got some answers. But, as hard as I tried, I couldn't put the puzzle together. It all remained just pieces.

I'd been living rough in Bucharest for a few days scouting out somewhere more secure. I found an apartment that was empty, seized by the authorities and then abandoned. The building was run down and on the outskirts of the centre of Bucharest. I knew the language and could become invisible.

The area wasn't the best place to be, people tended to keep to them self in case of attracting the wrong sort of attention; but that was ideal for me. The apartment I had in mind was a top floor corner with good vantage points and more than the average exfiltration options. No working elevators any task force would need to come by stairs or by air, either way you would hear them coming and have plenty of time to make your move. There were several escape options, from the fire escapes or balconies onto the roof tops of Bucharest.

Over a few days, I checked out some of the residents. Families, single guys, single women, nothing innocuous stood out or caused any concern. I managed to get a pre-used lock from a local salvage yard and fitted it during the day when the top floor residents were out. They were all predictable in their movements which gave a good margin for any excursions with minimal contact.

After I'd changed the locked, I waited a few days before I moved in, wanting to see if any suspicions had been raised, any officials called to have a look. But, just as I suspected, nothing… people just kept doing what they were doing.

Retrieving my duffle bag from where I stashed it, I moved in early the next morning. I would be nice just to get somewhere warm and out of the elements to sleep with walls surrounding me again. But no matter where I was I would always have one eye open; that was just the nature of things.

I spent the day securing the apartments and arranging what remnants of furniture were left in the apartment for best use, taking note of the exits and how they could be used tactically. A fold down table was just the right width to jam the small hallway next to the door. A mattress had been left on the floor, it would do to sleep on but it could be used as a barrier for any attack from the window. I had no need for furniture. I cleaned what I could, discarding the waste that had been left behind and opened windows to get some air into the otherwise stale environment. It must have been years since this space was used. I would need tape and newspaper to block the view, easy to remove and replace but it would stop straying eyes and provide privacy.

I worked most of the morning and then went out to get supplies. Home by early afternoon I'd managed to get some blankets from a charity shop along with a small transistor radio. I had a few bits of food, and the tools I needed including the newspaper and tape. I spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening taping the windows and amending the wiring to by-pass the electricity meter to provide power to the apartment, just in time to have light once it started to get dark.

I still couldn't rest though. It was always the same when I arrived someplace new. I needed to grow to trust the environment, but even that was dangerous. Trust could grow into comfort, and comfort into complacency… Observe and understand anyone who lived close by, assess the risks and evaluate, strategy not comfort was going to determine whether I could actually stay here and for how long. These were open ended questions, evaluated hour by hour, minute by minute. The answers changing with each piece of information collected as I continued to assess my situation and adapted to it. Always the soldier, he wouldn't let me lose my guard, he would keep me alive.

I turned the radio on low, wanting a distraction from the sounds in the stairwell of people coming home. I could still hear their movements clearly, but they didn't put me on edge so much when there was a bit of noise to dull them. If anyone would come up to the top floor, I would know.

I decided to try and eat. Tonight would be basic rations, a cold meal from a tin just like on an op. I wasn't comfortable enough yet to cook and get partially distracted in aroma or taste. I started to rummage through the small amount of food I'd placed in the cupboards earlier when I heard the steps coming up to the top floor. I started to move out of the kitchen area and closer to the door, my essential gear still in my back pack sitting on the floor nearby.

Eyeing up the bag, muscles ready to move, I heard a door unlock, open then close. I relaxed. A neighbour had come home.

Thoughts of food went out of my mind and I reached for the back pack. Taking it to the table I found my small knife. Sealing up the bag, I had just put it on the mattress when I heard the neighbouring apartment door open again and after a few seconds there was a firm knock at mine. I stood still, eyeing up the bag a few feet away.

' _Buna_?' It was a girl's voice and she spoke Romanian although her pronunciation was not correct. She wasn't from here.

'Hello?' Another knock, this time less assured, she spoke English.

I opened the door just enough to see her, but obscuring her view of me. She looked like she was in her twenties, average height, above average weight, the colour of her hair and eyes obscured by the dim hallway lights and the fact that she wore it up. Her clothes were formal. Did she work for S.H.I.E.L.D. maybe?

A moments silence hung in the air and I could see her falter. She was nervous. Good, that would keep her away.

To my surprise she composed herself and managed a smile but it wasn't convincing enough to hide her nerves.

'Welcome to building,' she said then attempting Romanian once again, ' _Bine ati venit_.'

She offered something forward and I glanced down to see her offer a plate with biscuits on it, I looked back at her with suspicion. The Bucky inside me queried ' _Did people actually do this still?_ ' Then the Soldier kicked in ' _Did she work for an agency?_ ' I reached behind me without moving the door to raise concern, my right hand gripping the knife I had just retrieved. All the while I looked at her, ready for her to make her move.

Without seeming to notice my preparation she placed the plate of the floor before me and said 'These are for you, to say welcome.' Her composure almost gone, her broken Romanian was getting worse, and by her accent, she was definitely English.

Pointing to the door on the left she said 'I live next door.' Again, another smile but the discomfort of the situation showed through. If she did work for an agency, she was new and not very well trained.

Backing away she said 'You can keep the plate, or leave it outside my door when you're done.' This time no Romanian, I kept my silence. Observing her I could be no obvious gun holsters or knives.

'Nice to meet you' she offered as she made her way back into the safety of her apartment. Closing the door behind her, I closed mine leaving the plate where it was.

I left the radio on and went back to preparing my rations, taking a can and a fork I listened past the radio to try and anticipate her movements as I ate, moving around the apartment for best advantage. For a long time she did nothing, then there was a mumble as though she were talking to herself. I finally heard movement, she was soft footed –either bare foot of fitted shoes, no scuffing of loose fitting shoes. A tap ran, a flush of a toilet, I could hear curtains close on a curtain rail closer to the wall that ran the length of my apartment. I glanced to the balcony, a light went off.

I waited.

A few hours had past and there had been no new movement from inside the apartment. I had a choice to make. I could leave things be and take a risk that she was no threat, investigate now and deal with the consequences, or do it tomorrow knowing that if she had raised the alarm teams would be on the way already.

I don't do well sitting still. Slight sounds become a noise from a past mission or an upcoming target or threat. I couldn't remember the last time I actually relaxed.

I considered my options. Evaluate the threat, adapt, or die. Those were the only choices I had.

My mind started to release itself as I worked over tactics, infiltration, and escape routes. Bucky withdrew and the Winter Soldier started to come alive. Like it or not he breathed life back into me. It's in these moments when I feel the most whole. I was all instinct and logic; no emotion to cloud judgement.

There would be no sleep tonight, I had a mission.


	4. Chapter 4

BB:

There were two possible infiltration points, the balcony window adjacent to mine or the door. I didn't know the layout of the apartment, looking at the balcony, the curtains were closed. If I opened the window the cold air would rush in and disturb something in the apartment. The noise alone would a normal person never mind an agent. The window was a no go.

It had to be the door. I could pick the lock no problem and from there on in it would be improvised. I knew from my own apartment that the floorboards could be an issue. It was just a matter of how well she maintained her property. If it was me, I wouldn't… great security system. But, most people don't think like that.

I armed myself with a handgun, side arm and three knives. I had rope attached to a carabiner and a fitted tactical vest concealing a small pen flashlight, a pick lock set, tape, and some penetrating oil and water-displacing spray for any potentially squeaky hinges. I concealed my metal arm with a long sleeved t-shirt under the tac. vest and gloves, and a winter face mask to cover most of my face. I was a shadow apart from the patch of skin around my eyes and my forehead. It felt like stepping into a warm safe space been in these clothes again. Safe by alive, all of my senses alert and my mind clear.

I sprayed the hinges of my door with the spray, to lubricate them. Waiting a few seconds for the spray to flow down the hinge, I opened the door silently, and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind me.

The door to her flat was in a small alcove, set back off the main hallway. I took out the flashlight and sprayed the hinges of the door with the lubricating spray, then got to work on the lock. It was a basic single cylinder deadbolt. Within a few seconds I was in and placed the lock on the latch for the exfil. I stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind me.

I waited for my eyes to adjust allowing myself to sense that my entrance had gone unnoticed and get a sense of the general layout. The apartment was larger than my own; having a separate bedroom to my left, the bedroom wall ran along the length of my apartment. The bathroom was next door to it. Remembering what I knew I already had observed I knew now that the apartment had two balcony areas, one off the bedroom and one off the kitchen. The bedroom door was ajar but closed enough to give me the opportunity to take my time, so long as she didn't stir.

I moved deeper into the apartment and reached for the torch, its beam turned to dim, just enough light to see the details, but not enough to ruin my night vision or disturb someone sleeping.

Paperwork had been left on the side of the kitchen countertop, a good place to start and a sloppy move for an agent. Bank Statements, a wage slip, a letter… Close by her wallet, another poor security move, unless these were planted.

Her name was Sarah McKenzie. The wage slip showed that she worked in the international law firm _Squire Sanders_ , job title Administrative Assistant. I took a mental note of her tax information. Her bank statement mirrored her wage slip, money in equalling the money from the job at the firm - no extra income in her account but that didn't mean anything. Covert agents would have completely separate accounts and identities.

The letter was addressed to a PO Box, it had been opened and slipped back haphazardly inside the envelope. Before extracting the letter, I took careful note of how the paper sat unevenly inside the envelope. Comfortable with how the letter needed to be returned, I pulled out the piece of paper.

' _Sarah,_

 _Please come home._

 _I know you have things you have to deal with but it's been years. The family all understand that you need space and time. It wasn't your fault. Please don't continue to blame yourself, please come home… We want you home. We're not mad, just worried…_

 _You're missing so much here. The kids must have grown so much since you last saw them. Mum has finished her University of the Third Age degree and graduates next month – it would mean the world to her if you were there. I've got you a ticket if you can make it… it's on 15_ _th_ _September. I've enclosed the details and the ticket in the hope you can make it._

 _I managed to get a promotion at work. It means that I may be able to swing a holiday for the first time in years. If you can't make it back here, let me know where you are and I can come to you. It doesn't have to be the whole family, just me. .._

 _The kids would love to see you. They keep asking after you. I've run out of reasons why they haven't heard from you. I send them birthday cards on your behalf. It's not fair on them to think you can walk away without any contact. The rest of us are adults, we can cope with the reasons why. But they're just kids, they don't understand. This shit this is too hard for them…_

 _Let us help you. Talk to us. Please stop running._

 _It wasn't your fault, you didn't do anything wrong, please let us love you._

 _We miss you. I miss you._

 _Jess_ '

It was the 15th last week and the ticket remained in the envelope, guess she didn't make it then. She was running from something or wanting people to think she was. Either way she was more than the happy welcoming neighbour I met earlier. But none of that proved anything.

I needed to keep looking.

The information left around the apartment was either sloppy or deliberately placed to look that way. All the identification I could find corroborated the story I was seeing. British passport in the kitchen drawer confirmed her name, as did her British and Romanian driving licenses both held in her wallet.

There were no hidden papers in or under any of the cushions or any other semi-obvious hiding sites. No sign of any weapons, not even a combat knife. There were no hidden cash resources, only one mobile phone and no land line; there was no laptop or computer device in the apartment. The more I looked around the more comfortable I became that she wasn't an agent or operative, but she wasn't what she wanted people to see either.

I was just about to leave when I heard movement from the bedroom, a soft low light appeared and a shadow crossed the door. I stepped back into the shadows in the far corner of the room, furthest away from the bedroom and bathroom.

She stepped out from the bedroom, the faint glow from the bedroom lighting her way. She was wearing a t-shirt, her hair was loose and longer than I had realised. She was still mostly asleep by the way she was moving, unsteady on her feet with short shuffling steps. She went into the bathroom, leaving the door open to use the light from the bedroom. After no longer than a minute she shuffled back to the bedroom, not even looking up or breaking stride. She had no idea I was here.

I heard her climb back into bed, the light disappeared. The apartment fell silent again.

My instincts told me I was done here. Get out without leaving a trace, but I hadn't checked the bedroom yet. I crept closer to the bedroom door and waited until I could hear the rhythm of her breathing change. She was asleep again.

I opened the bedroom door silently. The bedroom had piles of clothes on the floor as well as on a small chair in the corner of the room. From the blankets on the bed, she was a restless sleeper.

The bedroom was sparse apart from her wardrobe decorating the surfaces. There was nothing in here of any interest. I was just about to leave when I took another look at her as she lay on the bed. Now her hair was loose it had changed her features.

A cold shiver ran down my spine. It wasn't like looking at a ghost, but there was a similarity there, enough to bring a flood of memories back.

 _Mission Report: 16_ _th_ _February 1986; London._

 _Hydra agent gone rogue found to be selling unauthorised secrets to foreign intelligence services. Locate, extract and neutralise. No witnesses._

 _Target located in London, Bracknell Heath with local girl. All hardcopy and electronic data files destroyed, target and companion neutralised._

 _Authorities reported car accident._

I never knew her name unlike the primary target that night. But I remember her fighting back; clinging onto life for the fractional moments she had left before I snapped her neck. I remember the pleading in her eyes and the confusion as she didn't know why. There was no reason for her death other than she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I had my mission.

I blinked tightly to the point where I could see stars and then opened them again. I needed to control my heart rate. Pushing the memories away, I regained my clarity.

I left as quickly and silently as possible, from the bedroom, from the apartment and into the hallway. I turned to my door to find the plate of biscuits still outside my door. I looked at them for a second and then picked them up and took them inside, closing my apartment door, leaving the memories, that mission and her behind me.


	5. Chapter 5

S:

I'm pretty much on the lowest rung of the ladder in the Office. I have no legal qualifications so my career ladder started and stopped right here. My days were filled with paper shuffling, making coffee for pretty much anyone who asked and ushering clients from waiting room to office and back again.

I'd managed to get the job through the case worker who helped me get my registration certificate. Without a registration certificate, EU citizen or not, I wouldn't be able to stay for more than three months and I certainly wouldn't have been able to work. The paperwork needed to go to the General Inspectorate for Immigration. I hated filling in official forms, and doing ones in another language just made things more confusing. I had no idea where to start and what documents I needed to support my application or even if I had them. I needed help.

I came to the office looking for a case worker to help me with the forms. But, I had completely underestimated the cost of hiring one and I had no job to make the shortfall. Nicu Dalca came to my rescue.

He was about ten years older than me and a senior partner in the firm. He told me how his younger sister from his Father's second marriage was on an exchange programme in the UK. I guess he thought if he helped me, someone somewhere would help her when she needed help overseas. It was a point of common ground, so it felt as though we understood each other.

Nicu helped me and we came to an arrangement as to how I could pay my way. I paid what I could to get us started and then he completed my paperwork as my case worker. Once my registration came through he found me work at the firm as an Assistant and a portion of my wages would be held back each month until I had paid what I owed. After that, I could carry on working at the firm with my full wage or leave and find work elsewhere with a reference from a respectable local law firm. It was something they had done before, and I wasn't the first to be taken under his wing. It was a good feeling. Independent but with someone there, just in case…

I worked hard, doing overtime if it was offered and lived as frugally as I could to pay as much back as I could each month over and above what they held back. I hated debt, it didn't matter who or what I was in debt too. I didn't want to be beholden, not to anyone.

Today was a good day. Today, I had managed to pay off the last 100 Lei. That meant that my next pay check would finally be what it should be. I was on a high, and I felt free.

I left work on time and headed home. I had a spring in my step as I passed shop windows in the twilight, finally allowing myself to glance at the displays where for months I had forced myself to ignore them. Even so, I had another few days before I could actually feel the benefit of my new found wealth, if you could call it that. It didn't stop me dreaming though.

Before I knew it my daydreaming had landed me at my buildings entrance and I started the climb to my apartment.

I arrived breathless. Like every other evening, I fumbled in my pocket for my key and unlocked the door to home. I turned the light on, put my bag down on the kitchen bench and lay my coat over the back of the sofa. Walking back into the kitchen I went to find myself a snack. It was only when I opened the tub of biscuits that I remembered the new guy next door. Shaking away the sense of unease, I threw myself onto the sofa and sighed happily remembering that today I had become financially free, I had a home, and life was starting to feel as it should.

I began gazing around my apartment, dreaming of the gadgets and improvements I could soon make if I wanted to. Relaxing into the idea of my reality, I was startled by a knock at the door. I sluggishly stood up, not expecting any visitors I went to the door and peered through the peep hole.

To my surprise, I saw a stocky man with dark curly hair and a suit. It could only be one person – Nicu. I opened the door, putting the lock on the latch. With a big smile I greeted him with a brief open hug, backing away to look into his warm brown eyes and said 'Hi, come on in.'

Walking in with such confidence, he always looked unreal, like someone from a movie. I closed the door behind him, 'So what brings you over?'

He stood lingering near the sofa, and an unfamiliar silence fell between us.

'You can sit down you know. Can I get you a drink?' I offered.

'Were you not going to tell me?' he asked in his Romanian accented English. Nicu frowned creating a furrow between his eyes 'Are you unhappy? Have you found work elsewhere? I can't believe you thought not to tell me…'

Surprised, not expecting this reaction from him I replied, 'Nicu, no, nothing like that. I just don't like been in debt. It doesn't sit well with me, that's all.' I could tell from his stance and frown that he didn't accept my answer.

Nicu responded adamantly. 'No, that is not it. What else troubles you? There must be something for you to have injured me like this.' He paused, looking around the apartment. Gesturing openly to the room as he continued, 'It is this isn't it, you do not like living in this. I can understand. We shall move you tomorrow. Somewhere nicer, closer to work may be.'

'Thanks but, really, I'm fine.' I was choosing my words carefully not wanting to offend but at the same time I trying to hide my anger. I didn't like people making decisions for me. It was insulting that he dared presume that I would just as he asked without question.

'No. You do not understand my meaning.' Nico replied, exasperated he finally sat down on the sofa, leaning forward to put his head in his hands.

'Nicu, what is it that I don't I understand?' I sat on the sofa beside him, confused at his reaction, wanting to make him feel better.

He lifted his head from his hands and looked at me with pained eyes 'Do you not like me?'

'Of course I like you' I exclaimed, 'I can't imagine having got this far without you.'

'Well then, you need to let me help you. That is what we do in Romania for our women.'

'What?' Nicu leaned in as I was processing his words 'Wait.' He started to pull me forward his breath tinged with the smell of alcohol. 'No.'

By the time I had realised I was in trouble it was too late. He was leaning over me with his lips searching for mine. I was fighting to pull away, calling his name and repeating myself over and over as I fought him off. 'No, Nicu, please no. It's not like that. We're just friends. Nicu…!'

He wasn't listening. I managed to get a hand free and hit him to try and make him realise I didn't want this, but it only seemed to encourage him. I could see in his eyes that he enjoyed the intensity of my reaction, a smile smirked across his face and in that moment he was no longer a friend or benefactor. He was my worst nightmare, and it was happening again.

I had two options. Continue to fight or give in. Fear started to paralyse me then the flashbacks came as violent as the attack I was experiencing now - re-living as well as enduring. I started to react to both events, my body flailing, and I could hear myself crying. It all seemed to encourage him rather than show him the damage he was doing.

His hand came from no-where to hit me across the face. My vision blurred and I could see stars where once there was only the white ceiling.

'You will learn to let me help you.' Nico's voice was almost gentle but his stare gave away his true meaning.

I continued to struggle but I was getting tired. My cries became pleas rather than an outcry or protest. I was starting to lose hope, accepting that this may well something else for me to run from.

I was starting to lose the sense of what was real and what wasn't. Memory weaved with the present to terrorise and overwhelm my conscious thought. As Nicu's hand came toward my face, I primed myself for another heavy and hard impact unable to stop what was about to happen. Just before I felt his hand strike my face, the room went dark a moment later another resounding smack against the side of my face sent me into the black.


	6. Chapter 6

BB:

I was aware of the footsteps coming up the stairs from a few flights away.

Heavy footed, solid, occasionally taking the steps two at a time. It was likely to be a man. There was no faltering or slowing of pace… He'd been here before. He knew where he was going.

The footsteps were getting louder. He was coming to the top floor.

I silently got up from the mattress on the floor and stood by the door, I closed my eyes to focus on what I was hearing in the hallway. He was just outside my door. There was a knock, but it was for next door. I heard Sarah greet him and invite him inside.

I relaxed a little and went back to the mattress. I had my journal open with a picture of Steve Rogers lying on the page. Before leaving the States, I went to the Smithsonian to learn more about him. Turns out I could read about myself too, not that it did much good. It was just words about two people I knew nothing about. Just fragments and images here and there gave me the sense that I really did have a history with him… I just couldn't remember it.

I stared at the page. There were random notes of things that I remember Steve saying on the Heli-carrier as we fought. Then there were the questions, so many questions. Strangely, the one thing I did know was that Steve's mothers name was Sarah, that came to me this morning, but there was no image with the name, only more questions.

I stared at the page, hoping for an answer to come, any answer; just something to piece my mind together. Instead the low tones of a man's voice distracted me, putting me on edge. I could hear the conversation pass back and forth between Sarah and her guest. I had vague recollections of another time and a sense of unease about a lady inviting a man into her home unaccompanied, the impression it gave, a delicate flashback of morality.

I tried to settle, but the presence of someone new on the floor troubled me. My eyes drifted between the picture of Steve and the wall behind which the conversation emanated. There were no words but tones, and the tonal changes gave the impression that whatever they were discussing had changed it was more emotive now, not an average social call.

I went back to my picture, trying to recall something from the depths of my mind, something tangible. But there was nothing, only his mother's name.

A cry came from next door, the tone was too high for a man. It was Sarah…

Listening intently, I sat up right, the picture of Steve still in my hand. I glanced down, it silently whispered to me ' _She's in trouble, do something._ ' Was it my subconscious or my imagination of what I thought he would do?

Her cries continued but the tone had changed. They seemed more frantic now.

I got up and went to the adjoining wall, my ear pressed against it to get a clearer impression of what was happening. In the corner of my eye, Steve's picture stared at me from the bed. ' _Come on Buck._ ' It was like a ghost of a memory talking to me. Then something inside me switched on. Cover the arm, no weapons.

I rolled the sleeve of my shirt down then reached into the pocket of my jacket pulling out my gloves. Then went to the side pocket and took out my pick lock set, unsure as to whether the apartment door would be locked or not.

The tone of Sarah's cries had turned more into pleas now. I went over to the kitchen bench and picked up the plate that she had left, now empty and clean. If she didn't want intervention, I needed a legitimate excuse to be there.

I opened my apartment door to hear the continuing sound of in her apartment. I knocked, loud enough that I hoped it would disturb whatever was going on, but there was no pause.

I tried the door handle and to my surprise it was unlocked. I put the plate on the floor in outside the door where it would be out of the way and closed my eyes. I needed my eyes to adjust to the dark. I opened the door just enough to squeeze my hand through and touch the wall. Sure enough, the light switch was in the same position as mine.

Flicking off the light, I stepped into the flat and closed the door quickly behind me. The man pinning Sarah down on the sofa landed a heavy hit to her face. She went limp.

I moved toward him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck with my bionic arm; lifting him up from off of her I threw him against the wall. It seemed like he had not noticed my presence as he was shocked to see anyone disturb him. He didn't move fast enough to defend himself. He had no training, no defensive skills. He was a bully who had never had to endure what he was imparting to others.

I had to be careful. I was stronger, faster. I could inflict so much pain, so much damage to the creature of a man in front of me. It would be easy, and even easier to let myself go and have my instincts take over and kill him. It would be over in seconds.

I had to fight to keep control. It had been a while since I had felt the surge of adrenaline in a fight, not that this could really be described as a fight. There was no resistance, just a coward, disorientated and scared.

With my human arm, I punched him. Once, the satisfaction was a beautiful feeling. Twice, the blood lust was growing in me and demanded more. My emotions dulled as my inner assassin started to come to the fore. I needed self-control.

Struggling with myself, I lifted him once again with my silver arm, this time dragging him to the door and out into the hallway. I let him hover over the first few steps of the staircase and allowed his own body weight to carry him down the first flight of stairs. He fell like a rag doll. He didn't even try and save himself. When he came to a halt on the landing below, crumpled in a heap, moaning and moving slowly.

I hadn't killed him. It felt almost, good.

I waited to see what his intentions were. His injuries were not serious, bruises and maybe some cracked ribs due to the fall. He wasn't incapacitated, he could still cause problems.

He crawled to the down the stairs, then after a few flights, he stood and walked gingerly down and out of the building. Certain he was not going to return I picked up the abandoned plate and went back inside.

I turned the lights back on and closed the door behind me. I looked around the room and saw the remnants of her struggle. Putting the plate on the kitchen counter I turned my attention to Sarah. I expected to see her moving, to show some kind of discomfort or distress but she wasn't. Her long brown hair covered her face as she lay unconscious, her arm limp hanging off the side of the sofa.

I went over and crouched beside her. With a cold metal finger I moved her hair away from her face to reveal the dark red blotches which would in time bloom into deep bruises. She was breathing, blood trickled from her lip where it had been split. I moved her limp arm onto her body and scooped her up in my arms, taking her toward the bedroom.

After laying her down on the bed, I pulled the covers over her. She didn't stir. I could see the bruises starting to deepen.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed a towel, in the freezer I found some ice, and made a small ice pack. I poured a glass of water and took it into the bedroom with the ice pack. I crouched beside the bed and put the glass on the floor. The light from the living room illuminated the bedroom with a soft light, just enough to see what I was doing, and the bruised tone of her skin, but not so harsh as to hurt her head when she woke.

I moved her hair away from her face again and gently held the ice pack against her cheek.

My mind moved back to the 16th February 1986, London. Her hair was slightly darker than Sarah's. Her eyes were hazel and starring wide. A tear fell down her cheek as my hand gripped her throat. I remembered how the last exhale of breathe extinguished the life in her eyes.

My hand gripped tight around the ice, crushing it in the towel, creating a cracking noise as it disintegrated into smaller pieces. The sharp cracks of something physical breaking in my hand shocked me out of my memory. As shards of ice slipped from the towel, I was relieved to see her still laying there, breathing. I had had enough of killing…

I stayed with her, icing the bruises and wiping away the blood. When she started to stir, as soon as I knew that she would wake, I left.

Leaving the light on in the living area, I took the door off the latch and closed it behind me.

I went back to my mattress. Opening my notebook, I slipped the picture of Steve back inside its pages, then on a fresh page I started to write.


	7. Chapter 7

S:

My head hurt. I could feel my face swelling, pounding and throbbing with every heartbeat. My cheek and lip stung, I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. It took me a while to realise where I was. The light was dim and my covers were warm, lulling me into a false sense of security and safety. Then I remembered.

All at once the memories flooded back. I couldn't breathe. I tried to claw the neck line of my clothes away from my throat to try and get a sense of openness, but it was no good. Panic had set in.

How had I gotten to my bed? What had happened? The last thing I remembered was Nicu hitting me again. Why? Why did he do that?

The unimaginable flooded into my mind, a repeat of dark times past but this time I had invited my attacker in. How stupid could I be? Was he still here? I couldn't hear anyone in the apartment. There were no shadows moving in the light.

I tried getting out of bed, my neck and shoulders stiff and painful. I sat, perched on the edge of the bed. I needed to get out, get away. I search for something to defend myself with. The only thing of use was the side lamp but it was bulky with a bowled ceramic base. Now I wished I had picked up something more wieldy, something slender and easy to use with momentum behind it. But, no, I had to pick this one. I went for pretty. I hated pretty now.

Unplugging it, I wrapped the cable up in my hand and made my first tentative steps toward the living area. Peeking around the doorframe, I realised I was holding my breath in trepidation. A surge of adrenaline rose in me as I stepped out of the bedroom expecting Nicu to come barrelling toward me but no one came.

I looked round manically, my eyes searching for hiding places. I patrolled the apartment like a crazed women holding aloft my ceramic lamp as though it was a rock and I was about to crack open a coconut.

I walked through the kitchen to check the door to the balcony. It was locked, there were no unwelcome guests hidden outside. The open plan kitchen was empty, safe and clear, but the living room haunted me still. I walked around the room, still ready to throw the lamp and fight for my life, but there was no one behind the sofa, under the tables, or in the storage cupboard. That just left the bathroom.

My last ounce of courage came crashing down as I opened the door to find the bathroom empty. I collapsed to the floor, the lamp rolling away to the side of me. I started to cry uncontrollably.

Heaving sobs and unable to breathe, the pain in my chest was crushing. My head throbbed with each hard fought breath through the tears. I couldn't think, I didn't want to think. I brought my knees up to my chest, hugging them tight. I gently rocked back and forth as I cried, trying to self sooth away the pain. All the hard work I had put in over the last few months, ever since I left my old life, all of it. Trying to be normal, trying repair myself, and trying to be better than what I was. All of it had fallen away. I had nothing. I was nothing.

I can't tell you how long it was before I moved again but when I did my legs ached as I tried to straighten them. They were rigid and stiff, the feeling in them long gone. Now they were moving pins and needles took over from the numbness.

I somehow managed to stand and get myself into the living room, but all I could do was stand there looking at the sofa. I couldn't sit on it, not now. It just sat there as a reminder of how stupid I had been. But it was more than that. It was a reminder of everything I was running from. I didn't want to look at it. I couldn't. It needed to go, now.

I had no idea of the time, it was still dark, but that didn't matter to me. I just needed to get that sofa out of my sight, out of my space. I looked to the apartment entrance. I knew it would fit but where could I put it? There was no room in the hallway. That only left the balcony, but the door was too small and awkward. I would never be able to do it by myself, not in one piece. Then I realised, it didn't have to be in one piece. It just had to be gone and I didn't care how.

I went into the kitchen, searching for something to dismantle it with. A tool or a knife that I thought I could use to break up the sofa. The best I could find was a bread knife which I clutched tight, my knuckles white around it, like it was my lifeline, my only defence.

I kept looking for something more useful but the longer I searched, the angrier and more desperate I became. I needed it gone. Then I saw it; the plate on the side...

It hadn't been there before, I was sure of it. I looked the cupboard and sure enough, there sat the other three. It was the plate I had taken next door.

My blood ran cold, and then I flushed with anger. He had been in here.

All the rage, hurt and upset, from tonight, from my past, it all started to bubble over. He had been in here. Between when it started and now, he had been here.

I didn't want to be the victim anymore. I wanted to stand up for myself, be strong, make someone pay, and make him feel ashamed.

I gripped the knife tighter not even realising I was still holding it. My fury spilled over, my bruised face pulsed with pain. I couldn't think or rationalise what, who, why? Instead my irrational overwhelmed psyche vehemently carried me out of my apartment to stand straight in front of his door, banging ferociously with my left hand, knife still clenched in the other.

I had no words. Tears of frustration held down with sheer will of force. I needed to hurt like I was hurt. I was hitting the door as hard as I could, but I couldn't feel the pain, I only justification.

I thought I knew what I was doing, that my anger would hold out and win over any fear, but when the door opened I panicked raising the knife toward him. He looked down at me expressionless, but then his eyes grew dark and serious as he noticed the knife. He didn't blink. He just stared straight at me.

I wanted to accuse him, shouting loud ' _Why were you there? What did you do to me?_ ' But nothing came out of my mouth. I just glared back brandishing my breadknife in what now felt like self-defence. There was a second of stillness between us becoming a measure of will, but I felt myself flinch with uncertainty and in that second he countered. Before I could react he grabbed the wrist of my right hand, knife still gripped tight, with his right hand. Hauling me across his frame I was spun around and pulled into to his body. My back was toward him, my left arm across my body, my shoulders pressed against his chest, all held firmly in place by his left arm pressing tight into my chest bone.

He kept my right arm out from my body as I still gripped the knife but it was too far away to do harm. I started to struggle, trying to fight back and release myself. I started to panic as I realised how much stronger than me he was. How each movement he acted like a boa constrictor, tightening and refining his grip taking advantage of my struggle. I could feel a scream like a war cry building in me, but then so did he and in one fluid motion he had shifted his right hand, disarming me, my knife clattering to the ground, his arm pinning my now empty hand to my side, and his hand now covering my mouth. My scream had been reduced to a muffle before it even began.

I could feel his breath on the side of my face. There was no escape, I couldn't move. I started to hyperventilate as I realised how stupid I had been, how I had just landed myself back in trouble, desperately trying to formulate a plan.

Still restraining me, he pulled me into his apartment, not loosening his grip to give me any chance to fight back or escape. Once inside, I felt his balance shift as he pushed the door closed with his foot, the latch falling into place.

I struggled again but met with too much resistance to make any headway. My head started to throb and nausea swam in my stomach, draining me of energy.

I squirmed again but was met with a sharp pull inward toward him 'Stop.' His command was calm but firm, but I wasn't ready to comply. I fought again, but my head felt woozy and strange. I tried to get away again but I just didn't have the strength to make a serious attempt.

I felt his head lower toward my ear. I could hear him breathing slowly and calmly. In a low barely audible tone he said 'Calm down.' I struggled again but this time not to escape but instead to keep myself upright as I felt my legs start to buckle under me. 'I'm not going to hurt you' he said.

Everything became dull, I couldn't stand anymore, and his words seemed distant. My strength was gone, the adrenaline surge had evaporated. My anger gave way to despair. A tear fell as my eyes closed, my legs giving way. The last thing I heard was his voice, still calm but now questioning, 'Sarah..?'


	8. Chapter 8

BB:

When I opened the door, she was standing in front of me with a manic look in her eyes. I could see the swelling on the side of her face and the bruise that was starting to appear underneath it. I know what blows like that can do to someone. They disorientate, and if a blow lands right it can incapacitate potentially leading to haemorrhage and death. He had hit her hard. She was lucky she was standing.

The wild look in her eyes told me that she was not the same person who came to my door my first night here. She was edgy and red eyed. She almost had me believing she had a vague control on things until she came at me with a knife. Before I could stop myself I had hold of her, instincts kicking in and the solider in me acting without thought. In a smooth action I had her disarmed and unable to move, her back pinned against my chest. My left arm kept her close while I covered her mouth to suppress any cry for help; my right hand gripped the wrist of her now empty hand.

I could feel her panic. I wanted to calm her, but I didn't know how. It had been years since I had spoken to a person to try and offer any sort of reassurance or comfort. Putting people at ease wasn't my style anymore. In fact, people in general just made me feel awkward. I preferred to be alone… I couldn't trust myself around people.

I leaned in to her ear and tried to sound calming but I could hear my voice as it came across cold and unemotional. He was too close to the surface to feign warmth, taking too much concentration to control his impulses. It was taking all my self-control not resist him – eliminate the threat, that's what he was silently demanding. My mind split between his will and my own. He kept me alive but stopped me really living.

She was losing control. I could see a tear roll down her cheek as she started to shake with the adrenaline surge. Her legs buckled and I was forced to take her weight or let her slip down to the floor.

I held her upright, tight to my chest. I wasn't sure if this was the head injury, fear or something else. Slumped in my arms I realised that this was the first time I had held a women close to me since I became him. The smell of her hair took me back to another time. Broken memories of a women standing close smiling and laughing. I felt myself smile in response but clarity was just out of reach. I was so close, I remembered how it felt but I just couldn't retrieve anything else. I searched for more but came up empty. Then I was back in the apartment, the memory had gone and I was left with the women next door slumped in my arms. In a moment of humanity I could hear myself saying her name 'Sarah?'

I carried her to the mattress and put her down in the corner, propped up against the wall. I could see her tears still falling. Her eyes were open but she stared straight ahead, I couldn't tell if she was lucid. Tonight must have really shaken her up. Had it been him or me?

As I moved away I lifted my hands to show my palms to let her see they were empty. I didn't want to scare her any more than she already had been. She didn't move. Sitting across from her I watched as she just stared down at the mattress. She didn't blink but twisted her fingers with anxiety. I sat on the floor opposite, far enough away that she would hopefully feel some sense of space. I could see her mumbling to herself but no words drifted from her lips. My back fell against the kitchen workbench as I waited for her to regain some sense of calm or control.

I watched her as the tears welled in her unblinking eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes darted from side to side as though she were remembering something. I could remember been where she was now, I knew what it was like to remember the harrowing and relive a nightmare you have no control over.

I looked down to my own hands – one cold metal and the other warm skin. They represented more than what I had lived through. They represented my torn soul and the constant inner fight between the brainwashed trained killer and the remnants of a man who use to think of himself as a good guy.

It was subtle but her eyes that told me she had regained some control. The tears relented as she started to glance around the room while trying not to look up or attract my attention. I continued to watch through my peripheral vision so not to spook her. I could feel her panic rise and could see her swallowing desperately trying to control her emotions. Still avoiding eye contact she calmed herself to her credit.

I could see her working to figure out the layout of the apartment, where the door was, the strength, size and speed of her opponent – me. She was calculating whether she could get past me, whether there was something to use as a weapon. She was a fighter, a survivor, I would give her, that but she really did have no idea who, or maybe I should say what, she was up against. It took her a while, but I could see that she had come to the realisation that she wasn't leaving unless I let her.

Her head dipped. I thought she had made the decision that there was no fighting her way out of this and had given up trying to find a way out. I thought her the bowing of her head was a sign of her losing hope. But something caught my eye. Something wasn't right. She shuddered and her back went tort, arms held stiff in place. Unable to control her balance, she fell sideways and it became obvious that she was having a seizure. Her eyes had rolled back as she convulsed.

I moved over to her pulling her away from the wall to prevent injury. Kneeling beside her, it was only a matter of seconds before it was over and she lay there unconscious before me. Once her body had relaxed, I moved her head to examine her injuries. The bruise had spread across her face and temple, turning a deep shade of purple. The head injury appeared severe. I had killed people with lesser blows.

I was faced with a choice. If I left her here, in all likelihood she would die.

I was frozen, thoughts racing. I was use to seeing people die, too many to count at my own hands. So what made this so different? I could just disappear and leave her to her fate – whatever that was. I could move on like I had so many times since Washington. It was usually so easy to make the decision. There were no feelings or conflict, just logic and my will to survive. But this was different. For the first time since the fight on the Helicarrier, Steve's voice was clear like he was with me in the room. It had only been since I met her. He was willing me to be better…

Had time eaten away at me allowing guilt to seep in? Was it her? Was it me coming back to myself? I knew she reminded me of a mission but that was so long ago. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. My orders had been clear. I had no choice - they ensured that. But now I had a choice.

I was struggling with the idea of leaving her like this, despite the urge of self-preservation. This new found sense of conscience was unnerving. It had been so long since I needed to even think about what was right or wrong that it felt unnatural. I was used to living instinctively to bring about the outcome I had been ordered to achieve. More recently I had to do whatever it took to survive and evade the authorities. This was an added complication. Regardless, from experience I knew that complications were dangerous.

The conflict stopped me being able to think clearly leaving me with only my instincts to guide me.

I put on my coat, baseball hat and gloves. I grabbed a blanket from the mattress and bundling her up in it and carrying her like a small child. Leaving the apartment, I closed the door behind us wondering whether I would ever see the place again.

Putting her over my shoulder I carried her down the stairs as quickly as I could while trying not to disturb her or induce another seizure. I had two choices to get medical help – get her to the Spitalul de Urgenta Floreasca or a get her to somewhere I could get an ambulance to her.

The CCTV that was present I could avoid easily. Once at the phone booth, I place her gently on the floor, still wrapped in the blanket. Dialling 112, I called the emergency services. In fluent Romanian I explained to the operator that I had found a girl in the street that was unconscious and looked like she had been abused. While taking to the operator I claimed that she was fitting and needed urgent help. Sure enough, an ambulance was dispatched. I waited with her until I saw the ambulance approaching and then moved into the shadows, close enough to keep watch but far enough away not to be seen.

I watched as they worked on her, taking her carefully out of the phone booth and laying her on a gurney. She was alive but unresponsive. They lifted her into the back of the ambulance. It took 20 minutes to get underway, but when they did it was in the direction of the Spitalul de Urgenta Floreasca.

I pulled up my hood up on my sweatshirt, the peak of my baseball cap peeking out from underneath it. Closing my jacket tight around me I began to walk toward the hospital. Each step brought argument and complaint from my inner survivor, but something inside me needed to know she was going to be okay. The trick would be doing it without anyone knowing I was there and hospitals had camera's everywhere. This complication was getting riskier by the minute.


End file.
